Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (10 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What do you mean?” Curiosity got the better of Rachel and she stopped searching for her keys.

“How’d you get into Corrine’s house?”

“Why does it matter?”

“She only remembered you calling 911. She didn’t answer your knock, did she? Or maybe you thought she wasn’t home and decided to go snooping. You’re dangerously close to getting your PI’s license pulled.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing anything illegal.” Just investigating the mayor for possible involvement with a drug dealer, but Grant didn’t need to know about that. Not until she had real proof.

“Well, you’re scared of something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

Rachel shook her head and reached back into her purse. Her fingers were trembling when she felt the cold metal of the keys. Relief, pure and strong, flowed though her. Grant thought she was scared of his uniform. That she was doing something illegal and was afraid she’d be caught. For a moment she’d felt like a deer in front of headlights. Had thought he knew her secret fears, her secret wishes. It didn’t feel good, thinking she’d been exposed.

But he hadn’t exposed anything.

She pulled the keys out with a flourish, knowing triumph was probably plastered all over her face. The keys clacked together as she unlocked the car door. She pulled on the handle. The door didn’t budge.

She’d forgotten Grant, propped against the edge of it. “Excuse me.”

“Please go to dinner with me.” He spoke quietly, his eyes earnest in the deepening night.

She looked around. The parking lot had emptied. A sole light shown at the back of the church, probably Joe winding down. It was her and Grant.

Alone.

This time she was careful to create an emotionless expression. No fear, no yearning, no hope. She kept her tone even. “Why do you want this so badly?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze locked on her, his fingers came up and traced her jaw. “I only know that I’ve been wanting to see you smile again.”

She should pull away. Right now. But his fingers were warm and silky against her skin, gentling her defenses. Resisting his charm was proving more difficult than anticipated.

Who could’ve known he’d be here like this, pursuing her with all the patience of a panther on the prowl?

She had no intention of being his meal.

Moistening her lips and schooling her features into a bland mask, she summoned the strength to back away from him. 

His hands dropped to his sides. He straightened and stepped from the car.

She pulled the handle and the door clicked open. “I’m sorry, Grant. Dating is out of the question for me right now.” She wanted to tell him it wasn’t him, anything to wipe the stony look off his face. But that would be a lie. It was totally and completely him.

“Got it. Keep your fingers clean, Rachel.”

“Yes, Mr. Cop.”

“I mean it. My interest in you isn’t going to change the fact that there’s some suspicion about you.”

Suspicion? She paused halfway into the car. “What exactly do you mean?”

His brows slanted together. “The shooter brought up your name during interrogation.”

“You found him already?”

“He was too high to care if he got caught.”

“And you’re going to believe him over me?” Rachel slapped her hands on her hips and pinned him with an icy glare.

“Just wipe your nose and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s disgusting terminology.” She paused. “So this is what dinner is about. You’re working me.” She fought down the disappointment sweeping through her.

“No, dinner is personal.”

“Like your interest in Maggie? Whatever, Grant. You’re a man who follows the rules. You’d never get involved with a—” She hesitated. “What am I? A suspect?”

“No.” A vibration interrupted him and he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got to go. You’re not under investigation. You’re just…suspicious.”

She threw her hands up and whirled away from him. “That’s great. Keep up the good work, Officer Harkness.” The words bit out, short and clipped. She slid into her car before he could reply, gunned the engine, and spun out.

***

Grant watched Rachel leave, memories tangling his thoughts. He’d watched his mom leave him one time, exactly like that. Spinning out in the fancy car she’d bought the day before. She hadn’t come back for years.

Sighing, he looked down at his phone and read the text. Then reread it. What was going on? He slid the phone into his pocket and trudged towards his truck. He’d have to stop at the station before going home. Another long night. As he opened the driver’s side door, a shout split the night air.

He turned and waited for the pastor to catch up to him. He didn’t know Joe well. The pastor had been a partier in high school, hanging out with Rachel’s older sister and other jocks.

Grant had been a loner. He’d kept to himself, even after discovering in high school that girls were drawn to him. Magnetism, as girlfriends labeled it, carried him through college, marked him as a ladies’ man when he’d come back home sporting a badge. The ability to put people at ease proved a useful tool.

Joe stopped beside Grant’s car, a warm smile reaching his eyes. “I’m glad I caught you. Everything okay?”

“Sure.” Grant shrugged, then wondered if he’d just lied to the pastor.

“Good. Being a Christian can sometimes be rough. If there’s anything you ever want to talk about, I hope you’ll give me a call.”

Man, Joe sounded like a father and he was only a year older than Grant. It gave him a strange feeling. Grant nodded anyway. “No problem.”

Joe offered him another one of his understanding smiles before turning away.

Grant leaned against his Ford. On second thought, Joe probably could help him with something. He was a pastor, after all, despite the closeness of their ages.

“Hey, Joe.” Grant pushed himself away from the truck and jogged to where the pastor waited in the middle of the parking lot. “I have a question about Rachel McCormick.”

“Rachel?”

“Yeah, you know that tall redhead? Maggie’s little sister.”

A trace of amusement flitted across Joe’s even features. “I know who she is. We’re friends.”

“Even better.”

“What’s your question?”

“Is she a good woman?”

“Maybe you should ask Rachel that,” Joe suggested.

“Rachel thinks highly of herself. I need a second opinion.”

Joe’s face grew serious. “Rachel doesn’t think highly of herself. She’s guarded and there’s a difference.”

“You’re saying her attitude is a front.” Grant thought back to how Rachel had stood only moments ago, cool as the river in summer, and told him she wasn’t dating right now.

Joe chuckled, but his eyes kept their somber look. “No, Rachel is a fire. She burns with passion. Her attitude is a part of who God made her.”

“She seems aloof. Uncaring.” Grant shifted, uncomfortable with showing how much Rachel intrigued him. But this was the pastor. He should be the one guy Grant could trust.

Besides, who else could he talk to about Rachel? He was having trouble understanding the woman. If there was one thing he liked in life, it was to know. Simply that.

Joe’s face had taken on a quizzical expression, as if he were moving puzzle pieces around, trying to fit them into place. Then the expression cleared, replaced by a knowing twist to his lips. “You like her,” he said.

“She’s confusing.”

“Take the time to get to know her. You'll find her less confusing than you think.” Joe cleared his throat. “And I should probably stop talking like this about her. You’re a good guy, Grant Harkness. I’m happy to see you in the kingdom of God. Let Him lead you in this.”

“Yeah, sure.” They nodded to each other and Grant walked back to his truck. He’d try to let God take the lead, strange as it felt. Right now he needed to head to the station.

He’d think about Rachel later.

Four hours later, Rachel was the furthest thing from his mind. He pulled his unmarked car into a small grove of trees and killed the engine.

After leaving the police station twenty minutes ago, he drove to the Mayor’s home in an unmarked car, carrying a few gadgets the FBI agent dropped off earlier for him. If Gerta and William Owens were still together, he could’ve done this easily in Gerta’s presence. But William was too astute. He’d notice if Grant tried to bug the house.

Picking up his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said when Grease-Head answered.

Keeping an eye on the house caddy-corner to his position, he listened as Grease-Head sputtered for a few minutes. Then Grant broke in with what he’d discovered tonight. “Mayor Owens wants me to be Chief.”

“How’s that a problem?”

“I’m working for you, not him.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

Grant shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a little too close to deceit. He trusts me.”

“Even better.” The line silenced and Grant heard Grease-Head talking to someone in the background. “Look, this is perfect,” the Fed said, coming back on the line. “This is what you’re going to do.” He outlined a plan and then hung up after securing Grant’s cooperation.

Clenching his jaw, Grant snapped the phone closed and studied the mayor’s house. A light shone in the living room but he didn’t see any movement. It felt like he was betraying William Owens, and he shouldn’t feel that way because if the Feds were right, William had betrayed this city many times over.

Just as he’d betrayed his wife.

The adultery had started years ago but Gerta never seemed to care.

William’s current vices overshadowed his past infidelities. Did Gerta know how her husband had bought this big house? Had he been honest when he bought it? Overextended himself and needed money? Grant thought about the mayor’s wife, the high-pitched, frenetically-paced persona that disguised a huge heart. Was she involved too?

He shook his head and readjusted his position in the seat, eyeing the mayor’s house, wishing the porch light would flicker on so he could have a better view of the yard.

Unbidden, his memories conjured visions of Rachel with that ridiculous ski mask on her face. A smile wiggled around his lips. If she wasn’t dabbling in dangerous waters, if she wasn’t so absurd, he could actually admire her boldness.

A movement caught his eye and he froze, pressing his head against the back of his seat to meld more firmly with the shadows. Silhouettes in the living room appeared to merge then separate. Moments later the front door inched open and light speared through the unbroken darkness of night.

Grant squinted as a woman stepped out. Tall, lean, but he couldn’t see her face. The door closed, cloaking the mystery woman in shadows as she shuffled across the porch and down the steps. There wasn’t enough moonlight to see who she was but something struck him as familiar about her shape. The woman walked in the opposite direction of his position.

Perfect.

He turned off the dome lights so that when he opened his door, they wouldn’t alert her to his presence. Reaching over to the passenger side, he plucked two bugs off the seat. Quickly and silently, he cracked his door and slid out. He didn’t bother shutting the door completely. Body low, he rounded the car until he knew he was folded into the deep darkness of foliage. Night sounds enveloped him. The hum of insects swelled, a perfect covering for any noise he might make. Glancing down the street, he saw nothing but expensive cars and photo-perfect darkened homes. Whoever the woman was, she’d already cut a corner and wasn’t in sight.

He darted across the road, only releasing his pent-up breath when he reached a shadowed corner of the mayor’s house. No yard lights installed, unlike the other houses on the block. That had been one of Gerta’s biggest complaints, Grant remembered. She hadn’t felt safe.

Did she know how much danger she was in now? No one thought that bullet had been meant for Rachel, despite the note. Somehow she’d gotten caught in the crosshairs. Unfortunately, Gerta hadn’t been answering her cell phone for the past week. Mayor Owens said she’d gone out of town to visit family.

Grant didn’t know if he believed that but for now, he’d have to let it go. He squatted near the siding of the house and took out a bug.

Standing up, he peered over the porch. The family room light bathed the window and Grant could hear the faint tones of television. Probably the eleven o’clock news, accompanied by the slow sipping of fine scotch.

Pushing memories and feelings to the side, where they belonged, Grant crossed the grass, tiptoed up the porch stairs and placed the bug beneath the welcome mat. Audio might be a bit muted, but it should be good enough for now. Once the feds sent him some paperwork okaying a search, Grant would get into the house and find better locations.

Heeding a strange, unwelcome tug of emotion, Grant sidled up against the wall and peeked into the window. Sure enough, William rested in his recliner, feet propped up, a glass of Scotch babied in his palm. His eyes were closed, the cheeks relaxed and unlined.